A grey sky

A grey sky holds such bounteous joy

to the poet who can see

all of nature in one gaze

or hear a symphony

played out upon a cool Spring day

perhaps a listless hour

when blossoms waved goodbye to him

upon a slender bough

a myriad of sculptures

tree spirits bold and high

of rooks that cluster in them

many baskets all so high

their babies deftly swallow

the grubs that came to be

collected by the parents

from the ground so avidly

and all under a grey sky

and a whistful silent breeze

the clatter of a birch embrace

lime like a fresh reprise

the Sycamore the Hazel

hold sway and cast the air

the pylns transmit energy

and receive it from elsewhere

shafts of light that only cows

can see do frighten, they

stumble across hills and dales

and all life stays away

rigin steel encrusted in sheaths

of rusts devour

a grey sky holds

such bounteous joy

from the magick in

its power

*written in Birmingham